


Sherlock's First Monograph on The Polyphonic Motets of Lassus

by SherlockSlashGoggles



Series: The Polyphonic Motets of Lassus [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Historical, BBC Sherlock - Freeform, Crack, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-14
Updated: 2011-10-14
Packaged: 2017-10-24 14:28:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/264533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlockSlashGoggles/pseuds/SherlockSlashGoggles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Canon!Sherlock was a total fangirl for the BBC show as seen through the lens of a Victorian-era soap opera?</p><p>In this installment, Sherlock publishes an open letter to the fandom about how excited he is to see more of the relationship between Orlando Hoste and Jake Motet.</p><p>Also there are rabid turkeys and a murderous blimpcab driver.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sherlock's First Monograph on The Polyphonic Motets of Lassus

**Author's Note:**

> Oh gosh, please read the first work in this series if you're going to attempt this. Or, I guess, don't, and then make up your own explanations! What do rabid turkeys mean to YOU?
> 
> And yes. I know turkeys can't be rabid. But turkeys with birdflu just don't seem NEARLY as funny as turkeys with rabies. I think we can all get together on that.

**CONCERNING** the renewed **POLYPHONIC MOTETS OF LASSUS** and **FAN REACTION** thereto: an **OPEN LETTER** to the masses

It has come to my attention that the pages of the great London halfpenny rags have been flooded in recent days by the crocodile tears of the fans. Like an infant who cries when an empty bottle is removed from its grasp, these complainants are bemoaning the loss of something which may once have brought joy but stopped some time ago. In their reviews of this week’s staging of _The Polyphonic Motets of Lassus_ , critics have largely spent their column inches gleefully indexing those things which new writers Simon Morgan and Lord Matthew Tish have removed from the show. Yet no mention is made of how thoroughly these same critics have been skewering those same indulgences for years! This week’s installment of _The Polyphonic Motets of Lassus_ was, to put it simply, a triumph of storytelling and a victory for substance in the battle against flash. Those who say otherwise were simply not paying attention.

 Many years ago, when _The Polyphonic Motets of Lassus_ was in its infancy, I found myself in ill-health. Indulgences and indiscretions had taken their toll until, after a confrontation with my friend Dr. John Watson, I found it necessary to make alterations to my habits. My dear doctor was invaluable to me during this time, and it was he who first suggested that a trip to the theater might help distract me from my discomfort. None of the august and “respectable” episodic plays then showing were able to hold my interest, but in a dingy little theater that smelled of a strange combination of unused soap and unwashed bodies, we found _The Polyphonic Motets of Lassus_. I was immediately impressed by the original writers’ deft handling of complicated family dynamics; I have often in my work found myself frustrated by the seemingly infinite entanglements to be found within even one small family, and the case of the large Motet family working together in a small shop piqued my professional interest. Watson would often huff something to the effect that I was simply “indulging in a fantasy” and had always wished for a bigger family because I “could never forgive Mycroft for always being the oldest and forcing you to be the youngest.” The fellow has proven himself useless as a detective, however, so I felt justified in ignoring his mutterings.

As the show’s original head writer, Alan C. Ducksworth, began to spend more time chasing ghosts in the theater’s basement than supervising plot development, _The Polyphonic Motets of Lassus_ started its great decline. Less emphasis was placed on the characters themselves and more on their (admittedly fantastical) surroundings. By the time Watson and I stopped attending, emotional climaxes had given way to explosive climaxes (I never could understand how a music shop could be so constantly bursting into flames, and the hasty explanation about future-tubas running on gunpowder seemed suspect). I would occasionally hear details of the “event episodes” the writers were now counting on to bring in an audience, and Watson and I agreed that the week during which Mr. Motet, feeling unappreciated, is visited by a guardian angel and shown how his family’s life would be worse without him was particularly ludicrous. Any modern physician could tell you that the shock of an angelic apparition would precipitate an acute case of brain-fever. This, coupled with the Motet’s inexplicable monopoly on all the businesses in Lassus, the endless parade of homeless orphans with hearts of gold, and the rumored singing-competition spinoff show, made me glad I was no longer wasting my time with the show and could therefore devote my nights to more stimulating activities.

Years passed, and I gave little thought to my time at the theater until my work brought me into contact with Lord Tish several weeks ago. He happened to overhear a debate between myself and Watson over the entertainment value of gunpowder (my position is that it is much more entertaining in the context of our quarters on Baker Street than it ever was on the stage at _The Polyphonic Motets of Lassus_ ; Watson strongly disagrees), and upon catching the reference to the show he invited us to the first staging of his renewed vision. I accepted the invitation, thinking that it would at least provide me with more examples of _unamusing_ uses of gunpowder with which to contrast my own displays.

I will admit to skepticism at the opening of the show. It had become a cherished competition between Watson and I to guess at which future-instrument in “Polyphonic Motets” would ignite this week. When it was revealed that the music store, as well as most of the Motet’s other businesses and nearly all their orphans, had been destroyed by arson (a nod by the writers to those who had been wondering how any of the buildings in Lassus were still standing after the constant explosions), I was sorely disappointed. My dark mood was all but forgotten, however, after the first meeting of Orlando Hoste and Jake Motet.

I would like to take a moment at this time to refute the accusations that have been leveled at Morgan and Lord Tish and, to a less public extent, myself. Several of the critics I mentioned earlier and nearly all of the letters to the editors have commented on Orlando and Jake’s similarity to a different well-known duo. Watson went so far as to accuse me of enjoying the show simply as an ego boost. It is true that there are some parallels between Orlando and myself. The fact that Orlando is an investigator is not “unnecessary,” however. It is deeply relevant to the plot! That he arrives to investigate the Motets and discover the arsonist in their midst sets up conflict and explains his rudeness and the family’s dislike of him. And I’m sure the fact of his moving in with Jake (despite his obvious ability to pay for a hotel) can be explained by Orlando’s professional desire to observe the family at close range. As to the letter published in the papers today (I’m sure I shall be puzzling over the pseudonym “Watt Johnson” for YEARS), which included the line “I mean to say, that shocking bit of retconning to make Jake not just a streetwise-orphan-made-good but a former child soldier of the American War of Redependence is just a step too far,” I say that the writer has clearly neglected to fully contemplate the American War of Redependence. If the colonies’ forceful attempt to rejoin the British Empire grew so violent that an entire _industry_ grew up devoted to slaughtering the rabid turkeys they parachute in as weapons, surely the use of child soldiers is not outside the realm of possibility! After all, soldiers are not so uncommon in fiction. And besides, Jake doesn’t even HAVE a mustache. Obviously nothing like my Dr. Watson (who, incidentally, might want to reconsider the liberties he takes in his own stories if he is so upset by the possibility that others may do the same in their own).

Morgan and Lord Tish are wise to take advantage of the obvious chemistry between Orlando and Jake. There is much dramatic potential in the pairing: Orlando is a prickly genius who was sent to investigate Jake’s loved ones, but Jake is clearly drawn to the man who can provide him with more adventure than he’s had in years (more adventure as well as more lines, I might add. Jake joined the cast as just another of the endless orphans added in an attempt to pique interest in the lumbering corpse of _The Polyphonic Motets of Lassus_. By the time I ceased attending the show, he had already been shunted behind the bar of the Motet pub and called upon only to endlessly wipe the same glass and grimace as his adoptive sister drinks herself to death on their own future-booze. Jake is the only orphan in the entire cast to have made it through Morgan and Lord Tish’s cuts, and after seeing his scenes this week it is clear that the show-runners know exactly what they’re doing). It is the burgeoning relationship between these two men, more than anything else, which puts me in mind of the old _Polyphonic Motets of Lassus_ and which fills me with hope for its resurrection. The overwrought climactic scenes, with Orlando forced to guess whether it is his own blimp or the murderous blimpcab driver’s which contains the explosive hydrogen, are a fake towards the show’s more usual plot devices; the actual resolution was shocking most of all for its restraint. It signals a radical and welcome reinterpretation of the genre. (If you have not yet seen this week’s production, I beg you stop here and hie yourself to the theater, as the next sentence reveals all. To use the vernacular, SPOILERS AHEAD.) Jake’s sudden appearance and heroic actions are not waved away with a quick line of future-babble; instead, his actions are given an emotional weight when he confesses that he was concerned for Orlando’s safety and set out after him with the rifle he uses to defend the bar against rabid turkeys. It is a beautiful moment, subtly played, that moves the relationship between Orlando and Jake to the fore even as the flaming blimp crashes around them. I defy any fan of the show to prefer an exploding future-tuba.

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, HUGE thank you to those of you who read the first work and have now read this! This is the first fic I've ever attempted, and it is silly and rabid and I love you for looking at it.
> 
> Some quick notes on the fic itself:  
> -It is directly from the ACD canon that John works (for years) to get Sherlock sober.  
> -As to Alan C. Ducksworth chasing ghosts, ACD got all wrapped up in spiritualism towards the end of his life, to the extent that he refused to believe that his friend Houdini did not have supernatural powers. They got into a fight about it and stopped being friends.  
> -The bit about Mr. Motet and the guardian angel comes, of course, from It's A Wonderful Life (and subsequently many many creatively bankrupt sitcoms), and the insistence on brain-fever comes from the fact that EVERYONE gets "brain-fever" in the ACD stories. Mess up at work? BRAIN-FEVER. See something scary? BRAIN-FEVER. Brother-in-law cuts off your sister's ear and sends it to you in the mail? BRAIN-FEVER (although who could blame you, in this case).  
> -Watson's mustache seems to be his primary identifying feature in the stories and most of the adaptations, so I used it here as a wee joke and to further the idea that Jake Motet is most like the John Watson we know from the BBC series.  
> -The Sherlock in the ACD stories is always telling John that he takes too many liberties with his accounts of their adventures, so I liked getting that little dig in there.
> 
> And lastly, suddenly today I realized OH MAN, I CAN TOTALLY WRITE A SCENE BETWEEN ORLANDO AND JAKE, WITH STAGE DIRECTIONS AND EVERYTHING. So I think that's what's up next. I can't decide if I should write it straight, like it's an actual scene from one of the plays, or totally cracked out, like it's Sherlock writing fanfiction... but I'm sure I'll figure it out.


End file.
